


I'm Having a Shower

by loyalnerdwp



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Minific
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-10
Updated: 2012-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-07 11:05:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/430378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loyalnerdwp/pseuds/loyalnerdwp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was written for a prompt by a friend of mine - "Sherlock and John fighting over who gets to use the shower first? Fluff, please!" Very short and silly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Having a Shower

One nice evening, around six o’clock, Sherlock and John strolled into their flat…

Is not a sentence anyone would ever use in regards to the pair. No, they didn’t stroll or stride or saunter. On the extremely bloody early morning in question, Sherlock and John stumbled into their foyer, half-dead on their feet and soaked to the bone.

“I can’t believe you dragged me into that,” the doctor groaned, immediately stripping out of his coat and tossing it on to the banister. This is why while he loved the big cases, he also couldn’t stand them, because Sherlock - insomniac if there ever was one - stayed up till all hours instead of coming to bed and eventually managed to put it all together. At that point, he’d burst into their bedroom with a wide, idiotic grin (one that John loved no matter how ridiculous the detective looked) and shake him awake despite the time. Then, he’d be pulled out of the house, weather and conditions completely gone from Sherlock’s mind, and into a chase or a stalking or god knows what else.

“I needed your assistance,” Sherlock snapped. He was in no better spirits than John. Despite the flawless markup of the plan in his head, things went a bit awry. Instead of capturing a criminal, he and his doctor had ended up a bit caught up in the Thames. “God knows that worked wonders.”

“Oh, are you blaming me, now?” John asked incredulously. “This was not my fault, and it will remain that way. The only reason you forced me along was so afterwards I could praise your absolute brilliance and snog you senseless.”

“I did not. And even if I did, which I didn't, you don’t help yourself much by playing along anyways.” The detective’s eyes narrowed in his partner’s direction as his own sopping overgarment joined John’s on the banister. “It would have been useful of you to not have thrown us in a river, in any case.”

“He was going to shoot you!” John snarled, lowering his voice to an undertone. “Upstairs. Now. We’re going to wake Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock just rolled his eyes and swanned up to the sitting room, John close at heel.

“I was in no more danger than you or anyone else,” the detective retorted fervently once they were back behind closed doors. “And in the process of your attempts to ‘save’ me, we both ended up sodden in polluted water and our friendly criminal continued his lucky streak and ran off!”

“I’m not going to stand here and let you reprimand me for trying to make sure my idiot partner didn’t end up riddled with bullets!” the other spat back. “My apologies for ruining your goddamn silk shirt and Italian shoes, but the Yard can handle the suspect now and I rather prefer you alive.” Sherlock flinched away from the harsh tone in John’s voice but his eyes remained hard and determined.

“I’m going to have a shower,” he muttered, turning on his heel in the direction of the toilet.

“Ha! No, no, I’m having a shower and you and your pretty little arse can wait for me to finish.” John stepped forward quickly and cut Sherlock off.

“And why do you get to have a shower instead of me?” Sherlock asked, crossing his arms impatiently.

“Because, I was dragged out of bed by my mad boyfriend at half-one in the morning to run out and chase down a criminal, and then I was scolded for trying to save aforementioned boyfriend from aforementioned criminal.” John crossed his arms as well and held himself tall - even in the presence of a practical building like Sherlock, he looked authoritative (if not a bit damp). The detective glowered down at him in turn and tapped his foot. When John made to turn and go into the loo, Sherlock quickly manoeuvred around him and reached for the door. John, rather skilled with tackling from the innumerable amount of hours training and playing rugby, slipped his foot in front of the detective’s; effectively tangling up his lanky legs and tripping him. Sherlock, though, who seemed to analyse the entire situation within a second of its happening grabbed his doctor’s arm and pulled him down with him.

“Oi, what the hell are you doing?!” John demanded as he found himself held against the ground, Sherlock straddling him and pinning him by his arms.

“Stopping you from going to the shower, obviously,” Sherlock remarked with a roll of his eyes. “I think your plan backfired on you.” John’s eyes narrowed and he wriggled underneath the detective, finally giving out a huff when he decided he wasn’t going to be able to move.

“Fine. Fine! You win, the great Sherlock Holmes has once again out-witted me. Go have your bloody shower,” John muttered bitterly, letting his head fall against the floor in defeat. A smug look came over Sherlock’s face as he pushed up to his feet and straightened out the fabric of his shirt. John sat upright and leant back on his elbows, perfectly content to just pass out on the floor after all events of the evening. Instead, there was a spidery hand wrapped around his hand and pulling him to his feet.

“What are you doing?” the doctor asked again, no longer angry. More weary, and slightly annoyed.

“Having a shower,” Sherlock replied.

“And what’s that got to do with me?”

“You really don’t catch on very fast, do you, John?” The detective just smirked and opened the door to the toilet, tugging John right in behind him.


End file.
